Best Laid Plans
by TheCrownprincessBride
Summary: Hermione Granger is terrified of flying, and she hates brooms. Everyone knows that. But when Draco Malfoy decides to taunt her about it, she is determined to teach him a lesson and fly up to the tallest goal of the Quidditch pitch. Dramione. This is a multi-chaptered story co-written by five different authors. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Harry Potter. This applies to all following chapters._

 **A/N: This chapter has been written by the wonderful** Beckintime. **This story is a collection of five chapters from five different authors as part of the BIG BONUS ROUND of the Houses Competition.**

 **I hope you'll enjoy it!**

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Chapter 1

I heard Ron cry, "that's clearly a foul!" to the left of me as I watched as both Crabbe and Goyle launched their beater clubs at Harry as he reached out ahead, the small golden glint of the snitch visible between his fingers.

The clubs met their mark, and Ron and I shouted protests in unison as Harry fell from his broom and tumbled to the ground below.

The stadium fell into silence. I leaned forward over the banister eager to see what had happened.

Harry was lying flat on his back, motionless.

I started pushing my way through the crowd, trying to access the stairs of the stadium, Ron following behind me muttering, "I'm going to kill them Hermione, the whole lot of those snaky bastards."

It was then that I saw, over the heads of my fellow students, Harry raised his hand to the sky victoriously, the golden snitch in his grasp.

"The Snitch! He caught the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!" could be heard from Lee Jordan over the magically enhanced speakers as cheering erupted from the Gryffindor crowd, many other students from other houses joining in too. Harry was no longer visible through the swarm of people that crowded onto the pitch.

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Coming from the library, down the winding steps to potions class the next day, I saw Draco Malfoy, along with his ever-present lackeys Crabbe and Goyle, engaging both Harry and Ron in what looked like a heated discussion, as evidenced by the intense glaring and raised voices.

"What's going on here?" I asked as I arrived, my gaze switching between the familiar faces of my friends and the blond haired boy,who, admittedly, was very intriguing. How could someone so cruel be also so attractive?

 _Wait. What?_

Did I just say Draco Malfoy was _attractive?_ Eurg.

"Don't get involved, Granger," Draco sneered.

"Don't speak to her like that!" protested Harry. "We won fair and square yesterday, now deal with it."

"You fell off your broom. That doesn't count! It was more luck than skill!" argued Draco.

"Well, if your cronies hadn't lobbed their bloody clubs at him, you'd have seen Harry's skill," Ron interjected.

Inside, I could feel the rage start to build at the infuriating Slytherin boy in front of me. How dare _he_ of all people accuse _my_ friends of cheating? "Besides, if you had any skill, it would've been you that saw the snitch first, not Harry," I said, gritting my teeth slightly.

I saw Draco stiffen slightly and instantly felt bad. However, he seemed to recover, before retorting, "Think you could do much better, _Mudblood_?" It was my turn to stiffen as he insulted my lineage. He smirked at me; you could have almost described it as charming had it not been for the barbed words underneath "Go on then, use Potter's broom and fly up to the tallest goal," he drawled.

I paused, mouth agape, a counter stuck on the end of my tongue. The light in Draco's eyes seemed to dance with malice; he knew he had won. "Or are you too _scared_?"

* * *

" _Hermione, no!" I heard mummy call as I floated up into the air. She jumped for me, fingers grazing the bottom of my shoe. Meanwhile, I just giggled._

" _Mummy! Look I'm flying!" All I could do was laugh as I went higher and higher. My mother used to read me stories of fairies as she tucked me into bed at night, and I loved to imagine I was one, flying around in every direction, causing mischief. I had been trying all afternoon to fly, eyes shut in concentration, focussing on what it must be like to have wings, imagining myself as a fairy. I felt the air rush around me, as if I had my own pair of wings. I had finally achieved my (along with every other seven year old's) dream!_

 _I was flying like a fairy!_

 _I could see everything up here; from the play park, where daddy pushed me on the swing, to Mrs Smith's prized Orchids a few gardens down._

" _Hermione, please, come down now!" Mummy called from below._

" _Okay," I muttered, slightly disappointed I couldn't continue to rise and join the fairies in their floating kingdoms in the clouds._

 _All of a sudden, dread filled me. I realised, I had been concentrating so long on trying to float up, I hadn't put any thought into how I could float down._

" _Mummy! Help me! I don't think I can!" I screamed, starting to panic, and about 10 foot below my mum did too, her cries of horror attracting the attention of daddy, who was inside the house._

" _Daddy! Please help me!" I cried. I was now about 20 foot up. Sobs racked my chest, my panic was raw in my throat, and my breathing started to become laboured. It was then I realised I stopped rising, and as if all the magic had ebbed from me, I plummeted to the grass below, like a stone._

 _My flashback changed then from hurtling towards the ground, to lying in a hospital bed, the doctor repeating the lists of injuries I had sustained from the fall._

" _Two broken ribs, a broken arm, and twisted ankle. That's certainly got to have hurt. How did you do it again?" the young doctor inquired._

 _My father interjected before I could say anything. "She fell off a climbing frame, silly girl," he said smiling slightly, glad the injury wasn't any worse._

 _The young doctor grinned. "Kids, eh? They bounce back, though; you'll be okay soon little one," he said, ruffling my hair._

 _I wasn't, though. I hated flying and hadn't wanted to be up high on my own since._

 _The towers at school were okay because they had a floor, but when I first came to Hogwarts, even the moving staircases freaked me out for a bit._

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I realised my mouth was still agape. I quickly stuttered, "I…I just remembered, I left something in the library." Then I ran off, back up the steps, my face reddening in embarrassment as I heard the cruel laughter of Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle behind me **.**

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to** www . account . removal . requested **who reviewed. Thank you to everyone who followed and favourited! Here comes my chapter:**

 **Submission for House Ravenclaw, Bonus Round Chapter 2, Theme _air_ , Prompt _Undervalued_ , W/C: 1, 461**

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Chapter 2

On my way to the library, I had only managed to make it to the marble staircase before Harry and Ron caught up with me. I was seething with anger, but at the same time, I felt like Draco had punched me. His comment had hurt, and he knew it. Maybe he wasn't prone to physical violence, but words as weapons weren't alien to him.

They echoed in my mind like the silence after an avalanche. _"Think you could do much better Mudblood? Go on then, use Potter's broom and fly up to the tallest goal."_

He'd still called me Mudblood, and it had still hurt as much as it had the first day he'd said it.

And despite all of that, I found Draco attractive, liked the way his hair curled when it was wet, admired that passionate gleam in his eyes when playing Quidditch or brewing potions, caught myself staring at him in class. He wasn't all bad – otherwise I certainly would do nothing but despise him wholeheartedly. He had kind sides, too. Once, he had saved my Anti-Hair Loss Potion by reminding me – not very nicely of course – that I had forgotten to add Boomslang skin. He had helped me up when I had slipped on the frozen steps of the Owlery. I had caught him staring at me when he clearly thought nobody was watching, and when our gazes had met, something akin to smile had sneaked onto his lips. But those were rare moments. Mostly, he acted full of malice towards me.

That didn't stop me from noticing tiny details of his behaviour: he only drank Earl Grey and never ate a Full-English Breakfast; he had mastered the art of raising one eyebrow to convey a multitude of emotions – from surprise, to disapproval, to scepticism; he was more a cat-person than a dog-person; and if he felt threatened, he reacted with condescension or anger.

And just a moment ago, I had threatened him, threatened his superiority, and he had reacted the only way he could: with cruelty. Merlin, Draco _liked_ to hurt me by insulting my lineage, by provoking me. How could I find someone attractive who obviously enjoyed seeing me cry?

I didn't know.

"Hermione, wait!" Harry called, reaching for my elbow to stop me.

I turned my head away from them and let my hair fall over my face, so they wouldn't see my angry tears. But they noticed them anyway.

"You're not crying because of that git, are you?" Ron said, stepping closer so that he and Harry were shielding me from curious eyes.

"Don't listen to him," Harry added, patting my shoulder awkwardly. "We know you don't like flying. You don't need to prove yourself to _Malfoy_ , of all people."

My head snapped towards him. His face was gentle, sympathetic, but there was something in his voice that threw me off. He sounded too reassuring. False, somehow. And then, I understood. He didn't believe I could do it – fly, I mean – even if I tried.

"But I need to, don't I?" I said tonelessly, stepping away from him. My anger had evaporated as quickly as it had come. "I need to prove myself constantly. Prove that I'm the smartest witch of my age, prove that I'm just as good in magic as the high and mighty members of pureblood families, and prove that I'm brave enough to be sorted into Gryffindor." This revelation left me hollow inside, and my voice shook a little when I continued. "Even to _you_." I swallowed thickly, wiping the tears from my face. "I'm more than just books and cleverness, you know?"

Harry paled, opening his mouth to protest, but Ron was faster. "This is nonsense, Hermione. We know that you could do it if you set your mind to it."

I turned to him. "Really? Would you let me borrow your new Cleansweep?" I asked, arching one eyebrow in an attempt to mimic Draco's patronising expression.

Hesitation flickered across Ron's face before he forced it into an impassive mask. "Of course."

But it was a lie, and I knew it. Even my friends didn't believe in me, didn't think I could fly a broom. They just valued me as a walking library and as help with their homework, but they didn't think I was capable of anything else, and certainly not of facing something that terrified me.

I had never felt more disappointed of anyone in my life. Clenching my hands into fists, I turned around sharply and began to climb the stairs. I was their friend, and they still underestimated me. I felt more undervalued than ever before.

I was a lion, a bloody Gryffindor, and I could easily fly up to the highest goal if I wanted to. I had been flying before, if they'd forgotten. Thestrals certainly weren't the most secure way of travelling, especially if you couldn't see them. Just because I hated these teeny tiny twigs of a deathtrap – also called _broomsticks_ – didn't mean I couldn't do it.

The logical part of my mind understood the laws of magic behind brooms and knew that they were pretty safe. But when I sat on a broom, high up in the air, there was only one law I remembered and that was gravity. I could feel the ground come rushing at me, and there was no magic that was able to annul the laws of physics forever – as I'd had to learn painfully when I was younger.

And Draco … well, he obviously also didn't believe I would dare to climb on a broom or he wouldn't have said so. Had he been feeling so unbalanced by my remark that he had to lash out at me? It was his way of putting me back in my place and gaining advantage over me. I knew that; but still … how was he ever going to like me back – if that was even what I wanted – if he thought me incapable of handling anything other than books?

Was I expecting too much when I wanted to be appreciated by my friends or have a boy who I liked like me back?

 _Apparently_.

I drew my cloak tighter around me. One of the windows on the first floor had been left open and the cold air made me shiver.

Oh, I was going to show Draco not to mess with me – a witch of utmost skill and incomparable intelligence. I would steal that flipping broom of his and teach him a lesson. And Harry and Ron, too, while I was at it.

I rounded the corner to the library, suddenly filled with grim determination, and skidded to a halt when I recognised the pale figure standing near the doors.

Draco.

He was leaning casually against a pillar, as if it was totally normal to hang out in front of the library. I noticed that he was alone – no Crabbe or Goyle at his side. He looked up and our gazes locked. Silver with amber.

Before I knew it, my wand was in my fingers, and for the first time in my life, I felt the urge to hurt him back. I had probably only imagined the nice things he had done. Draco thought I was beneath him, less important than dirt on his shoes, and he had shown it to me over and over again.

Suddenly, I was almost running towards him, and shock crossed his face when he noticed the wand in my hand.

"Hermione –"

It took me a few seconds to register that Draco had used my first name. My mind was reeling when I came to a halt a few metres in front of him, my wand outstretched. I _hated_ him. I must have been delusional in thinking that I liked him, that he was capable of liking anyone but himself.

Draco didn't even reach for his wand, just looked at me. There was something broken about him that would have made me lower my wand if he hadn't spoken.

"I didn't mean what I said."

The words plunged into the silence between us like a knife. That lie, that last lie made me snap.

" _Avis_ ," I whispered, not averting my gaze from his for one second. His eyes flickered up to the flock of yellow canaries above my head, and he frowned in confusion.

Still training my wand at him, I said coldly, " _Oppugno_."

The little flock of birds sped like a hail of fat golden bullets toward Draco, who yelped and covered his face with his hands, but the birds attacked, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they could reach. I didn't care what he would do next, curse me or run.

Abruptly, I turned and entered the library, its door closing behind me with a final _clack_.

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	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This chapter has been written by the amazing HollyHobbit101. The corresponding prompt is "discarded books".**

 **Thank you to** SereniteRose **and** maripaz6 **for reviewing.**

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Chapter 3

I tossed the fifth book I had read onto the pile next to me and buried my head in my hands, groaning in frustration. Quidditch was literally the only sport in the wizarding world, how hard could it be to find _one_ book which covered the theory of how to fly a broom? Incredibly hard, apparently.

After a few moments, I managed to gather enough energy to lift my head again. I tipped my head from side to side to work out the aches, noticing Draco Malfoy watching me from the end of an aisle. I felt myself begin to blush as he smirked infuriatingly at me. But my senses soon returned to me. I glared fiercely and shifted my chair so that I could no longer see him. He was _not_ going to distract me from this.

I sighed and dragged the final book across the desk, ignoring the steadily building headache throbbing in my temples. I didn't understand why it was taking me so much effort to wrap my head around even the basics of flight - nothing else was this hard. Flying had never been my strong suit, it was true, but I'd always believed that you could learn anything with a few hours hard study. I wasn't sure how long I'd been in the library, but it had certainly been more than a few hours and I still wasn't any closer to being able to fly.

This sixth book seemed to be much the same as all the others at first, talking about how great Quidditch was, which teams were the best, the best tricks to perform in the air. None of which I cared about. Of course, there was some direction on how to fly, but there was nothing I hadn't already been told by Madam Hooch in our flying lessons. I had jotted a few notes down however, so I slammed the text shut and dropped it down on the growing pile of discarded books, pulling my parchment in front of me.

 _Command the broom firmly._

I thought I was doing that. Wasn't glaring at the broom and yelling "Up!" firm enough? Maybe I should try being less aggressive with it. Harry never gets mad at his broom.

 _Gently hover._

I wanted to scream at the vagueness of this instruction. What did it even mean? How was I supposed to 'gently hover'? I understood how planes and hot air balloons fly. I knew about how the flaps and ailerons on planes created lift to keep it in the air, and the air from the fire in hot air balloons allowed them to fly, but that hardly applied to broomsticks. They were just literal sticks with twigs attached to the end that were kept up by magic.

 _Lean forward to move and sideways to turn._

Again, that was all well and good, but I had no idea how to control my speed. In my previous attempts, I always ended up going too fast, and that was when I was actually able to get airborne in the first place. As for turning, the theory sounded simple, but the broom usually just did a complete 360 under me. Planes turned using the rudder on the tail to direct the airflow the way they needed to turn, and it's controlled by a joystick in the cockpit. But there were no cockpits on broomsticks and no rudder to turn it, so it all relied on my control. Which I didn't have.

 _Tilt the broom upwards to ascend and down to descend._

In theory? Easy. In practice? So, so hard. It always freaked me out to lean forward or backward because I got scared I'd slide off the end. I generally found myself gripping the broom really tightly, and all the muscles in my body would just lock up so I couldn't move. It wasn't fun, and I was pretty sure the broom didn't like the way I clenched my fists around it, because apparently inanimate objects had feelings now. Point was, I could never control my broom enough to have the confidence to lean in any direction, seeing as falling uncontrollably through the air wasn't a fun thing to do and would almost certainly involve broken bones upon landing.

 _Let the wind carry you along._

I was sure this instruction made perfect sense to actual Quidditch players. And why shouldn't it? 'Let the wind carry you'. I didn't see how that was complicated at all!

So maybe I was getting a little (okay, a lot) frustrated, but honestly. It was the most nonsensical, stupid, poorly worded sentence I had ever read, and that was saying a lot considering this was Hogwarts, where we deal with the unexplainable every day. Then again, general magic had a theory behind it that I could learn and apply. Flying seemed to be just… trust. I had to _trust_ that the broom would listen to me. I had to _trust_ that I wouldn't slide off it. I had to _trust_ in my own capabilities.

And there was another thing! Not a single one of those useless books contained anything about the weather conditions! I'd seen Harry fly in all sorts of weather, but they must have been over what to do when it rains, or when there was very little wind, because it couldn't all be pure talent. How was I supposed to let the wind carry me along when there was none? Or what if there was too much wind? The broom would be blown all over the place and it would be even harder to control than it already was. Was I meant to just put on a pair of flying goggles and hope for the best?

I wanted to scream in frustration. Obviously, there had to be some sort of enchantment upon the brooms to keep them in the air; I only wished I knew what it was. _Levicorpus_ maybe? Or _Wingardium Leviosa_? No, those were permanent until the counter-charm is performed, and brooms only flew when they were needed to. Maybe they were like wands with a magical core built into them. That would make some sense, but I had no clue what the core could be. Maybe it said something in one of those books and I just didn't see it.

After I had gone through every single book I had selected all over again, I had concluded that the world was conspiring against me. Apparently, the magic behind the manufacture of brooms was 'sacred' and 'a secret guarded so carefully, only a handful around the world are privy to it'. Honestly, it was all quite ridiculous. If all magic was kept so secretive none of us would be here in the first place.

I sighed again and looked out of the window next to me. The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, so if I wanted to put all this theory into practise I had better get going. I stood up and gathered my notes together, groaning inwardly as I saw the mess I had made of my desk. After the second read through, I hadn't bothered to stack the discarded books back up neatly, only threw them haphazardly to one side. Consequently, there were two books on the floor, another that had landed on the neighbouring desk, and three that were partially open still. Madam Pince would kill me if she saw.

I shoved them into my arms and hurried over to the section I had originally found them in. I wasn't sure where each one went so I just let them go randomly, hoping they would somehow find their way back to their original place. I reviewed my notes quickly, before stuffing them into my bag and heading back to the common room, a plan slowly formulating in my mind. All I needed was a broom...


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter has been written by the terrific ElectricClover aka Niamh. The prompt was: "It wasn't me!"**

 **Enjoy and leave a review!**

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I marched out to the Quidditch pitch, Draco's stolen Nimbus in one hand and a roll of parchment in the other. So what if that stupid, ferret-faced, egotistical, blond-haired, well-muscled _prat_ had told me I couldn't play Quidditch? What did _he_ know?

Admittedly, it stung that Harry and Ron doubted me as well. They'd found it hilarious, only laughing more when I'd gone back into the Common Room to borrow Ron's broomstick. They hadn't let me borrow it, Harry suggesting I use an old school broom instead. I tried to show them what I'd been working on all day but Ron had just remarked condescendingly, "Books don't have _anything_ to do with flying, Hermione."

That had just served to annoy me further, and it was that furious determination that had me sat astride the broom, all of my books and notes left on the sidelines. I had read them over at least ten times, but I still wasn't sure it would be enough. What if all my calculations, all my research, was wrong? No, I'd worked too hard to stop now.

I took a few deep breaths and let the cool wind wash over my face, clearing my head. There was no turning back now. I kicked off, my legs trembling as I pushed off from the ground. I hovered a few feet in the air, the broom wobbling slightly. Strong winds whipped around me and I had to struggle to get it under control. I felt sick, memories of that awful day when I first tried to fly flooding back to me. Memories of being sure I could do it, that absolute delight of floating in the air, only to plummet to the hard ground below. I had to force myself to not get caught up with stupid fears, to focus on the challenge. Slowly, I looked up at the goal-posts, dizzyingly far above me. They were so high up, I almost wouldn't be surprised if they were surrounded by clouds. _I guess I'll find out_ , I thought as I made my nervous ascent.

I had been rising for no more than 30 seconds when I felt my hand, slick with sweat, start to slide out of my firm grip. Fear froze me, and I just watched as it slipped off the handle of the broom. I was unable to move, unable to get my hand back into position. Horrified, I looked as it shifted completely off the broom and I fell to one side, making one, last desperate, grab. It didn't work, and I fell the short distance, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Only for a few seconds, though. Resolutely, I stood up and dusted off my robes. I promised myself, I couldn't fail again.

An hour later, I realised I could fail. I had, over, and over, and _over_ again. I was covered in grass stains, I had splinters in my hands, and I had bruises all over my body from falling off the broom more times than I could count. Then, it had started pouring, making the challenge I had set myself all the more difficult. It was completely frustrating, to say the least. I took a few deep breaths and mounted the broom for what I promised myself would be the last time.

The broom rose in the air and for once, I felt in control. The broom didn't wobble or swerve from side to side. I rose higher and higher, until I was nearing the goal. It was tantalizingly close, if only the rain would clear for just a second and I could get a better view-

My broom swerved suddenly to the side, caught in a gust of wind, and I almost crashed head first into the post. If I had, if I'd fallen… No, I stopped myself. I would not think about falling from this high up.

I tried my hardest to keep concentrating on flying and only flying, but there was no doubting that I was deathly afraid. My head was spinning, my heart was racing, my limbs were trembling. I was a complete wreck.

I was so near now, almost on eye-level with the top of the hoop. I leant forward, hoping to see my target more clearly through the downpour. As I felt the slick wood under my fingers and felt the lurch in my stomach, I realised my mistake, I had overbalanced and the wet broomstick was far too slippery to hold on to. Suddenly, I was falling, and falling, and falling, the ground was rushing towards me.

I had to do something - no-one could survive that kind of fall. Pushing my panic to the back of mind, I cast a wandless cushioning charm, praying it would be enough. I closed my eyes, waiting for impact, and-

I was fine. Nothing much was hurting, except my pride. I had had so much of it, too. Everyone else had been right, even _Malfoy._

"Aaaah!" I couldn't help the frustrated, defeated scream that escaped my lips. I got up off the floor, the dark clouds above reflecting my stormy mood. I turned around, my anger turning to horror.

There, lying on the ground a few feet away, was Draco's Nimbus. Draco's Nimbus, which I had taken, no, _stolen_ from him. Draco's Nimbus that was snapped in two.

"This day could not get any worse," I muttered, sinking to the ground in a dejected heap.

"What in Merlin's name happened, Granger?" I heard a familiar, if slightly anxious, voice behind me. Of course, it was Dra- _Malfoy_ , blond hair plastered to his head and his white shirt slightly see through from the rain, giving me a nice look at-

 _No. Back on track, Hermione_ , I thought to myself. As I stood up, obviously unhurt, a glint of something that I almost thought was relief flashed in his eyes.

"Malfoy," I spat, with all the venom I could muster. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was just enjoying a lovely walk around the grounds, and I couldn't help but notice the disaster that is you trying to fly." A weird sort of half-smile graced his lips, almost as if he was teasing me.

"It wasn't a disaster," I protested.

"Well, that utterly wrecked broom over there begs to differ." He offered up another nervous smile and gestured behind me with one pale, elegant hand. All at once, I remembered.

"It wasn't me!" I tried to sound cool, calm and collected but from the disbelieving look on his face, he knew I was lying.

"I'm sure." The sarcasm was all too obvious. "The giant squid crawled out of the lake and destroyed my new broom." He laughed awkwardly, and his surprising lack of anger made me feel all the more guilty.

"I swear, Malfoy, it wasn't me!" I tried again.

"I _saw_ you, Hermione, so don't even start with all this 'It wasn't me!' nonsense." He looked at me, analytically, as if trying to gauge how I was feeling.

"You were watching me?" I asked, and I saw his poised facade slip, if only for a second.

"I wanted to see you fly." It was said with such earnest sincerity. Sincere was not a word I'd usually use to describe Draco Malfoy. It was just too hard to believe.

"Thanks, Malfoy. What, do you find it funny? You needed a laugh?"

"No, that's not-" I was far too heated to listen to what he was saying.

"Why do you have to be such a _prat!_ I can't _handle_ it! In case you hadn't noticed, this is important to me, I'm not here for your amusement. You're awful to me, day in, day out. Is it because I'm a filthy _Mudblood,_ is that why?" Even Draco seemed shocked at my use of the word. "Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood. That's me! Can't even fly a stupid _broom_ without breaking it-" I clenched my fists, trying desperately to stop myself from doing something I would regret.

Draco was staring at me, a strange expression on his face. Was that, _concern?_

"Hermione, I-"

"No, I don't need your pity!" That's what it was, he felt sorry for me. He was _embarrassed_ for me. "What I need is for you to leave me _alone._ "


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This is the last chapter of our Bonus round story. It has been written by our incredible prefect** 2DaughtersofAthena **! The prompt is "running away".**

 **I hope y'all have enjoyed our little story. Please leave a review.**

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Chapter 5

"What I need is for you to leave me _alone_."

Draco Malfoy stared back at me, eyes wide and lips parted, the pouring rain dampening his shock of white blond hair. The wind struck us hard, causing me to stumble forwards towards him. He furrowed his brow, shuddering from the sudden blast of cool air that rushed around us. Raindrops thrashed around us, smattering the ground and our faces with water. I turned away, furious with him and his silence. Maybe I had flown on his broom and broken it, but he was only there to laugh at me, to mock me. So that he would see me fall. In that moment, I hated him. I hated that I felt so drawn to him, and I hated him for the fact that I would have to actively try to avoid being pulled into him.

I furiously wiped away the wet hair from my forehead, hands already slippery from the downpour. It hammered down on us. The ground squelched beneath my feet as I began to walk away from him. I didn't want to see his stupid face, and I didn't want to rethink how I was supposed to be feeling. My face burned from embarrassment and fury. How dare he. How dare he watch if only for the reason of waiting for my demise. How dare he.

Hands clenched, fully intending to leave Malfoy behind, I ran. Footsteps pounding against the saturated grass. Behind me, Malfoy was running too.

"Granger! - urgh, Granger!" he hollered. "Wait, please!"

His words only made my run harder, which in turn prompted him to a sprint, quickly overtaking me and spinning around to a stop. I glared at him. Draco held up his pale hands in front of him, the sleeves of his shirt caught in the fluttering breeze, as if trying to prevent a wild horse from breaking free. I felt like a wild horse. I felt as though I might run him down, shouting out to the pouring skies and the whistling wind. I was drenched, my shirt sticking to my chest and gooseflesh manifesting over my arms. My hair was like Medusa; snakes' tails whipping around, coiling and curling.

"If you're expecting me to apologise, it's not going to happen," I cut across, harshly.

He was silent, catching his breath and waiting. But I was done. Done with flying, done with him, and done with this feeling; this utterly ludicrous clenching feeling in my stomach and chest that persisted whenever he was around – which was more frequently than ever. I was sorry to have let his words influence me, and that his taunting led me to flying. I was sorry that I had wasted time reading about physics and the theories of flying to perfect a method. I was sorry to have stolen his broom and attempted to fly it.

"I'm leaving."

On my way past him, our shoulders clash painfully.

"Is that really what you want?" he asked, voice finally breaking the silence.

I didn't stop, determined to walk away proudly and not give a damn about him until he annoyed me the following day. Rain splashed up my legs from the accumulating puddles. My chest ached painfully. I was heavy. Trying to bring back some semblance of warmth, I folded my arms. There was no use to it, though. And I didn't feel like casting any charms.

"I'm sorry!"

"You've never been sorry for anything in your life, Malfoy," I call behind me, bitterly, turning momentarily to glare back at him.

Draco stood there, defeated, his arms open in pleading frustrating. But I couldn't bring myself to feel sorry for him, because then I would have to think about all the other things I feel for him. I could not allow myself to think of him in any other way than complete disgust and disregard. It was easier to run away from him. Far easier to get away from him, and to let the air carry me further and further from this.

"Let me teach you," he offered, running a hand through his hair. "I can help you, if it's really something that you want?"

"I don't need you to teach me," I spat back, scowling. "I can do just fine without help, without you."

"Clearly!" he called sarcastically as I start moving backwards, ready to run again. I didn't want to speak to him anymore. Because if I spoke to him, that would mean I would really have to think about what I might want. I couldn't deny that I was attracted to him. His stupid hair, and his stupidly tall figure, and his horrible attitude coupled with a mind that I'd always considered somewhat cruelly brilliant. I figured it must be some sort of game he was playing with me. With me raging and half in love with him.

 _This is like living in a nightmare,_ I thought, turning around again so I didn't have to see him.

"Hermione, wait! Please," he cried out, frustrated. I threw out a hand behind me to tell him to just desist and leave me alone. "Come on, I want to help."

"No!" I yelled, anger flaring again as the pain hit me. "You want to see me fall on my face and fall, and fail." My voice broke on the last word, betraying a little more than I would have liked. "Just like you have this whole time, Draco. Here to watch me come to my untimely demise, and laugh while the mediwizards carry my mangled, dead body from the grounds. You'd _love_ that."

"Stop it," he breathed, voice hoarse. "Don't say things like that."

"I'm not some sort of air-head bimbo you can manipulate, _Draco_. I know things, I read books. I am perfectly capable of handling myself," I shouted over my shoulder.

"Flying isn't about reading books, Merlin's _beard_ Hermione!" he snapped. "Just listen to me, please."

I turned around for one final time, glaring at him, challenging him. Rain thundered down, the crackle of the sky not even daring to catch my attention for a moment. A flash of lightning struck the grey, casting it bright white for half a second. Still, I stared Draco Malfoy. This ridiculous boy that left a heavy, warm feeling in my chest when we spoke. This boy who was trying to tell me that everything I knew was wrong when regarding flying. This boy who was too smart, and too attractive, for me to even consider getting involved with him. I knew who he was, and I knew who I was. It would never work. I hated that I couldn't control it.

"It's about feeling," he sighed, moving closer. "Flying isn't about theory, or reasoning. It's about feeling, and about intuition. Doing what your heart and your gut is telling you to do. Not what your brain decides is the right decision."

For the first time, I felt like he was talking about more than just flying a broomstick. Flashes of light from another lightning strike catch in the glistening raindrops. Time slowed down, pausing perhaps just for this breath of a moment between us, where Draco had moved closer, and I had not backed away from him. The air surrounding us crackled with the electricity of the storm. I was drawn to him. In that raw, unadulterated moment, I was being pulled in by his eyes, his voice, him.

"You have to feel that swooping feeling in your chest," he murmured. "You have to fight what your mind is saying and give in."

"But my mind would never allow that to happen," I found myself saying, unabashed and for once unafraid.

Draco was right in front of me then, looking into my eyes, as if searching for a piece of my heart under all of the cold logic.

"Maybe you should let it." He smiled, melancholy.

I hardly had enough time to consider that it was completely unnatural for him to look at someone like that, let alone me. I hardly had time to think, and to breathe, and to wonder what I wanted to happen before his lips were on mine, and we were colliding in the pouring rain and whirling wind.

I understood, in that moment, as my heart soared higher than I'd ever dared to fly on a broomstick, what he meant. It was about feeling, not about what my mind had predetermined was the best. Kissing him wasn't about logistics, it was about a little piece of freedom in a world fraught with unspoken house rules.

* * *

 **The end.**


End file.
